


Liability

by SonicZephyr



Category: Psychonauts
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicZephyr/pseuds/SonicZephyr
Summary: Morceau Oleander is a liability to the Psychonauts - nothing but dead weight held up by the flimsy thread that his friends' good words bought him. Why should Milla and Sasha waste their efforts on him?





	1. Chapter 1

Morceau Oleander was never good enough. Too soft for his father, too short for the military, too aggressive for the Psychonauts. Thanks to last week, he could add too weak for villainy to the list of his deficiencies. 

There was no one to blame the Incident (as his world domination scheme had come to be known in the official reports) but himself. Psychonauts officials cleared him on his sanity screenings, scoured Whispering Rock for any signs of further foul play, and assigned him to a desk job with probation for the remainder of the year. He would have had it much worse had it not been for his fellow counselors and Zanottos vouching for him. 

Why had they even bothered wasting their efforts on someone so  _ useless _ ?

Morry sat in his grimy basement office, the fluorescent light above him signaling its imminent demise with a nauseating flicker. It wasn’t really  _ his _ office. He was nearly certain that the room had been used as a janitor’s closet until HQ needed a place to store him. Murky water dripped from a crack in the ceiling, spattering against the concrete floor in an uneven beat. Not that it mattered. It’d all run into the drain beside his desk eventually. 

He was lucky to have even gotten this. After all, he was a liability. He was just dead weight held up by the flimsy thread that his friends’ good words bought him. 

His wallowing was interrupted by a brief knock, followed by a familiar figure entering the room uninvited. “What’d’ya want, Nein?”

Sasha gave the room a cursory glance. His expression yielded no hints towards his thoughts, though he shifted to the side when a drop hit the shoulder of his leather jacket. “So this is where they’ve put you?”

“Nah, I’m training the roaches to sign forms for me,” Morry huffed out. “Why’d you think I’m down here, wiseguy?”

“Hm.” He set a pack of papers on Morry’s desk before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Another incident report, this one requested by Elka’s parents.”

“Just what I need,” Morry said, flipping through the pages. He tossed it onto the stack of unfinished documents precariously towering in his inbox. Sasha merely stared at him. At least, it seemed that way with his damned glasses. That, mixed with the constant drip, drip,  _ drip _ from the ceiling made Morry’s blood begin to boil. He didn’t need some lanky super spy hovering over his desk and judging him. 

He was about to burst when Sasha looked up at the clock on the wall. “Ach. I’m late for a meeting. Give me a call if you need me.”

“Yeah,” Morry said, deflating. “Thanks, Nein.” 

Sasha waved off the sentiment and left the room without another word. Morry waited until his footsteps faded down the hall before dropping his head to his desk. 


	2. Chapter 2

Milla Vodello always had a habit of catching Morry when he was at his lowest. It was like a maternal radar, the same instinct that allowed her to be at the bedside of campers having particularly vicious nightmares. Today would be no different. 

It was 5 o’clock on the dot. Morry marched down the hall, a folder tucked firmly beneath his arm. He was ready to go home, to sprawl out in his chair and let the television melt his mind until it was late enough to hit the sack. He was entertaining the thought of which frozen dinner to have when he heard the familiar click of heels coming up the adjacent corridor. 

His heart stuttered.

Morry picked up the pace, keeping his eyes trained on the door at the end of the hall. He couldn’t face her. She probably hated him. He would hate him. An ugly, pathetic little coward betraying her trust and stealing her brain, along with those of twenty innocent children. It was unforgivable.

She caught up to him in no time at all, and he internally cursed his stumpy legs. 

“Heading home?” she asked. 

He didn’t look at her, only muttered a brief affirmative before a warm hand closing around his arm made him pause. 

“Morry, darling…” He risked a glance at her, finding her bent awkwardly, watching him with wide, searching eyes. “It feels like it’s been ages. How are you feeling?”

“ ‘M fine,” he said, wrenching his arm from her grasp. She straightened up and folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t look angry, not disappointed, just… tired. He wanted to punch himself. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I… I’m managing. I need some time to readjust.” 

“I think we could all use a break,” she said, allowing a small smile to grace her features. “Why don’t we skip work tomorrow, hm?”

Morry could only blink. “What?”

“I spoke to Truman and got the OK,” she said. “I’m worried about you, sweetheart. You let your feelings build too long. You’re going to burst!”

“I s’pose it’s not a bad idea...” he said after a moment. 

“Fantastic!” Before he had a chance to process it, Milla threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “We are going to have a blast, I promise.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rubbing away the lipstick stain on his scalp. 

“We’ll party tonight, on me,” she said, clasping her hands together and beaming at him. “You can even stay with me if we party a little too hard, okay? Sasha already agreed to karaoke! Won’t that be fun?”

“How’d you get Nein to say yes to that?”

“I have my ways, darling!” she said, winking. With that, she strolled off, casually tossing “I’ll pick you up at eight!” over her shoulder.  

Morry stood rooted to the spot. He should be happy, but doubt nipped at the edges of his mind. Why didn’t she hate him?


	3. Chapter 3

The trio of Whispering Rock counselors were sat in a small, gaudy room in a nondescript building located on the western side of the city. If an uninformed individual put their ear up to the door of said room, they might form the impression that someone was being tortured within. They would be wrong, of course. It was merely a tipsy Coach Oleander singing to an All Paul track out of key.

When the track wound down, Milla raised her glass and let out a cheer. “You were fabulous, baby! Sensational!”

Morry beamed, setting the mic back in the stand and tossing himself onto the orange vinyl couch. “You’d better believe it, Vodello.”

Milla grabbed the songbook and leafed through it, humming tunelessly as she perused the options. Morry downed the rest of his drink and turned to Sasha.

“Hey, Nein!” he slurred, poking Sasha in the side. “You listenin’ to me?”

Sasha shifted away from him and sighed. “Yes, Morry.”

“When are ya gonna sing something? What are you too good for us or something? Huh, Nein?”

“I’ve done all the good songs in the book,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t _do_ pop.”

Morry bristled and climbed onto the table, knocking over a number of empty glasses. “Fight me! I’ll knock you flat on your back with one- DAMN IT, NEIN!”

Sasha grabbed Morry via telekinesis and held him above the table, trying in vain to suppress his laughter.

“Boys,” Milla warned, reaching out and pulling Morry back down to his seat. “There will be none of that here!”

They both muttered apologies, though Morry resorted to making faces at Sasha as soon as Milla got up to punch her song code into the machine. Sasha managed to toss two coasters at him in retaliation before Milla turned around.

“Now Sasha, come sing with me,” she said as a piano trill filled the air. “Let Morry take a breather.”

Recognition flashed on Sasha’s face at the tune and he groaned.

“I hate _Grease_ ,” he protested, but Milla had already grabbed his arm and pulled him up to the mic. “The chorus never ends.”

“Hush, you’re starting!”

While Sasha sang about chills multiplying, Morry settled back into his seat and took a moment to feel victorious. He felt good. What could be better than sitting with his two best friends, knocking back some cold ones, and singing some pop classics? Certainly not world domination. It was hard to believe he ever saw the pair as the opposition, as a threat to be pacified and tossed to the side in his quest for power.

Unease began to build up in his stomach. He didn’t deserve this. What right did he have to be happy? Before he knew it, he was bawling into his hands.

Milla stopped singing immediately, dropping the microphone and hurrying to gather Morry into her arms. “What’s wrong, darling? Talk to me.”

But he couldn’t. His mind was too loud, his conscience drowning him. Instead, he just shook his head.

“Oh, Morceau…” She swayed as she held him. Sasha settled beside them and placed a hand on his back. “My poor baby; we’re here. You just let it out.”

Morry cried until there was nothing left in him. His head throbbed, his throat burned, but his heart felt lighter.

“Are you alright now?” Milla asked, pulling back. She swiped her thumbs over his cheeks and gave him a soft smile.

“I think so,” he finally said, extracting himself from her arms and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Sasha grimaced and tossed and handful of napkins at him. He used them up in an instant. “Sorry ‘bout that. What an embarrassment.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Morry,” Milla said, reaching out and touching his arm. “It was what you needed. Happens to all of us.”

He didn’t shrug her off this time, instead allowing himself to appreciate the contact. “Let’s just get back to the songs, alright? No point gabbin’ when we’re on the clock.”

“There’s the spirit,” Sasha said, nodding. “As long nobody is forced to endure listening to All Paul.”

“I’ll break your face, Nein,” Morry said, pointing. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Ah, there’s the Morry we all know,” he said, breaking into a smile. “Glad to have you back.”


	4. Chapter 4

They pile into Milla’s car at half past one in the morning. Sasha elects himself to drive. The official reason is that he nursed a single drink throughout the night, but everyone knows he wouldn’t let the others drive even if they _were_ sober. Milla’s lead foot is legendary amongst her friends, as is Morry’s road rage.

The car can seat one person comfortably, though the manufacturers decided to toss three seatbelts into the bench seat of the candy-red convertible. Sasha shifts as close as he can to the car door as Morry slides into the middle seat, followed by Milla. They sit shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, pressed together like sardines in a tin. It takes Morry back to his childhood, to family road trips spent sandwiched between his older brothers or long afternoons of getting jostled on packed school buses. He drums his fingers against his knees.

“You know the route, right?” Milla asks, leaning over Morry to hit a button on the dash. The roof retracts, but the airflow does little to ease Morry’s tension. A few more buttons and the crank of a dial cause a thumping pop beat to fill the air before Milla settles back in her seat. Sasha hums out an affirmation as they pull out of the lot.

It’s a moonless night. The interior of the car is lit only by dashboard indicators and the occasional streetlight. Morry shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his seatbelt and sitting up straighter. There aren’t any other cars on the road. It’s probably because it’s a weekday, but something about the scene rubs him the wrong way. It’s too still, too quiet, even with the wind and the radio blasting through the silence. Something in the pit of his stomach begins to bubble as they pull up to a stoplight.

“Hey, Nein… ‘m not doing so hot…”

Sasha glances at him, takes in his pale face, and immediately veers off to the shoulder of the road. “Do. Not.”

“I’ll be fine...” Morry chokes out. There’s a brief moment where he thinks he honestly might be alright, but then he lurches forward. Sasha yelps and scrambles to undo his belt, but he’s a fraction of a second too late. Morry explodes, emptying the entire contents of his stomach onto the floor and their shoes.

“Are you alright now, darling?” Milla asks as he slumps against her. Morry only groans in response, while Sasha lets out a strained squeak. She glances at him. “Are _you_ alright, Sasha?”

He quickly and quietly exits the vehicle, strips off his socks and shoes, and psi-blasts them. Milla follows suit, climbing out  and chucking her boots to the side. She surveys the damage as Morry stumbles out of the car and plops onto the sidewalk.

“Well, I never did love the color of the mats,” she says, carefully prying them up and tossing them with her ruined shoes. Sasha blasts the lot of them, leaving nothing but a small pile of ash as evidence of the mess. He then rounds the vehicle, popping the trunk and rummaging about for some semblance of cleaning supplies.

Milla takes a seat next to Morry, who covers his face and mutters something that is half apology, half nauseated rumble. Milla sighs and hugs her legs to her chest. “I know, Morry, I know. I don’t blame you.”

Another rumble. Milla closes her eyes, lets her head drop onto her crossed arms. “You’ll just owe me a favor then, okay?”

Morry doesn’t answer, and Milla doesn’t mind. Sasha finds nothing in Milla’s trunk except a few loose CDs and and a pile of wrinkled clothes. When he comes back to complain, the pair are both sleeping. He makes a halfhearted attempt at waking them, before deciding to just stuff them back into the car and hit the road.


	5. Chapter 5

“Morry, sweetheart, you must keep still.” 

Morry pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. A sleepover seemed innocuous enough at the time. The trio pulled into the underground garage at Milla’s place around a quarter to two. After Sasha managed to shake them both awake, Milla insisted it was too late for either man to go home. “ _ We’ve been drinking,” _ she had said as Sasha dragged a jelly-legged Morry from the convertible.  _ “Nothing good comes from mixing that with loneliness.”  _

At the time, it sounded like a poetic way of saying “Morry can’t be trusted to be on his own,” which no one could argue against. But Morry would have put up more of a fight if he’d have realized that sleeping over meant he’d be tortured with Milla’s beauty routines.

The moment they walked in the door, Milla ushered Morry into the bathroom. First it was the actual washing, then at least four different bottles of  _ stuff _ that made his face tingle. It was nice at first, getting all that gunk rubbed into his skin. He’d never had a massage before. The combination of her magic fingers rubbing circles into his skin and the alcohol still buzzing in his veins almost knock him out.

But then she had to go and pull out a packet of pure hell. He cracked an eye open as she squeezed out a dollop of black tar into the palm of her hand and began to paint it on his face in broad strokes. It reeked of flowers and glue. 

_ “Wait for the mask to dry,” _ she had said, before beginning the same process on her own face. It was easy enough for her to say, but the paste tightened as the minutes wore on. It made him itch. Certain spots dried quickly, others stayed tacky and cold. 

_ “I don’t like this, Vodello,” _ he had tried to say, but his cheeks cracked. Milla just hummed and led him into the living room, seating him next to a sleeping Sasha. 

So there he sat for what seemed like years, waiting for the torment to end. 

He would fidget and Milla would say, “Morry, sweetheart, you must keep still.”

He would pick at the corners of the mask and Milla would say, “It’s not dry enough yet; just relax.” 

He would grumble and Milla would say, “Sasha’s sleeping, darling, please don’t.”

He was just about ready to claw his skin off when Milla finally said, “Alright, you can pull it off.” 

He yanked the mask off in strips, wincing as it tugged at his skin. “What the hell were you playing at, Vodello?”

“It’s for clarifying and smoothing the skin,” she said, pulling her own mask off in a single sheet. She collected his discarded strips and returned to the bathroom. “Your skin will be soft as a baby’s.”

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he said, running a hand over his cheek. The skin beneath his whiskers was smooth, almost eerily so. Sasha grumbleed from his spot on the sofa, and Morry jumped at the chance to share the revelation. “Hey, Nein, touch my face!”

“I’ve experienced it before,” Sasha said, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Milla does wonders for the skin. Let me sleep.”

“You’ve never seen something like this, Nein,” Morry insisted. “I’ve lost thirty years! Just give it a feel.”

“No,” Sasha said, sitting up. “I’ve done enough today. I drove. I sang. I was vomited on. I don’t want to touch your face.”

“What the hell is wrong with my face, huh?” Morry pointed a finger in Sasha. “You can handle all that, but you can’t just touch my face. You can handle me kidnapping children, stealing your brain, creating weapons of mass destruction, but you can’t just  _ touch my GODDAMNED-” _

A hand on his arm made the words die in his throat and the blood rush from his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Milla kneeling beside him. 

“Morceau,” she said, her voice soft and sweet. She slipped her hand down his arm until she could twine her fingers with his. Her touch burned. “We need to talk about this.”  

“I don’t need to talk about squat…” Morry muttered, attempting to yank his hand free. 

Milla held fast.

“Knock it off, Vodello!” he said. “I don’t need you to  _ tolerate _ me. The pity party is over, so  _ let me go!” _

“Stop acting like a child!” she snapped, making him freeze. “I do not  _ tolerate  _ you. I  _ love _ you.  _ We _ love you.  _ How could you ever think otherwise _ ?”

He couldn’t move; he couldn’t breathe. Milla could rip his heart out on the very spot and he’d be helpless against her. He dared to turn his head towards her and found her glassy-eyed, her face flushed, breathing hard. Sasha, his face a mask of indifference, reached out and touched the spot where her fingers dug into Morry’s. 

“Perhaps,” he said, “we should take a moment to collect ourselves before something breaks.”

Milla blinked, taking in a shaking breath and loosening her grip. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so sorry, Morry. That wasn't right of me.”

“I weaponized your brain,” Morry said, dropping to sit on the floor. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he wasn’t about to look like a crybaby twice in one day. “I plotted against the agency. I betrayed you. I’m weak and ugly and useless and  _ short.  _ I should be rotting in a jail cell, not sitting here. Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, darling,” she said, stroking her thumb over his knuckles. “I’ve been so alone. I lost everyone and everything I ever loved. I couldn’t bear it, Morry. But then I met Sasha, and he had nothing too. But we could be lonely together, and it made it easier. It was the same way when we met you. And if someone tried to take that from me, I would destroy them.”

“So… you’re waiting for the right time to kill me?” Morry asked. 

“I believe the point Milla is trying to make,” Sasha offered. “Is that we’re family.”

“You really mean that, Nein?” 

“There are days when I want to blast you in the face,” he said. “You’re one of the most insufferable people on Earth, but yes, you are family. So I would never intentionally shoot you.”

“We’re family?”

“Of course, baby,” Milla said, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “I thought you knew. You’ve always been one of us. I wish we could have shown you that sooner.”

“We’re family,” Morry said again. The words felt foreign, like spitting up pebbles, so he tried it again. “We’re family.” His voice cracked, but what did it matter if they saw him cry for the second time in one night? And later, when sleep finally overtook him, nestled between his friends on that overplush sofa, he even dreamed of the words.  _ His family. _


End file.
